#I don't even know what the point of this all is only that I can't wait to be away from my family so I can heal and finally be myself
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You are not Special- DC X DP Prompt
Interdimensional God-like beings are not known for their patience, however it looked like they had gotten lucky.
This being that had been summoned against its will to their universe was actually quite calm. They sat back on a makeshift throne made by the cultists that had brought them here. Its body was the form of a young man draped in silk. He paid little mind to the cult bowing and scraping at his feet as he absentmindedly examined his nails for anything under them. They were as pristine as his marble-like form.
"You know cults get a bad reputation in these modern times." He said not looking up at the heroes who had invaded his sanctuary intent on sealing him away. "Not without cause of course. But not every cult is evil. As oxymoronic as that sounds. But it used to mean a group of people devoted to their god of choice, no different than any other religion except they lived solely to dedicate their lives to it. No tricks or schemes, just beliefs. None of that sacrifice or blood here though. I like cleanliness and a good batch of dessert for my alters."
"We aren't here to give your offerings." Batman said simply.
The teen stretched lazily and shrugged.
"You are free to just pray, take a rest, eat, or do whatever you want."
"You don't belong here. You must return to your own realm." Superman said fimly but cordially.
The cultists panicked as they looked between their god and the heroes. Some had disdain etched on their faces others had sadness.
"Don't belong? I do what I want. Who are you people to tell ME what to do? Do you own this planet? This universe?" The god challenged.
"We are the protectors of this planet. Surely you understand that we can't let you stay here using humans like servants." Superman retorted.
Constantine had a bad feeling about what came next as he got between everyone to speak.
"Sorry, forgive him. We don't want to offend. It's just that our universe has had enough beings like you causing issues in the past. We are a bit exhausted because every major event seems to hit our planet. We are a bit defensive."
The teens's lip curled.
"Do you think you are the only planet with such woes? How conceited. What you believe that your little planet is so special that it is the only one subject to the powers of beings you can't control? As we speak there a thousands of beings influencing this world that have a bigger effect than what I'm currently doing. Are you tired of being the playthings of the universe? Bah! The universe doesn't care one bit what goes on on this little planet over the billions of planets in this universe. You are no more special than a bit of algae on a frozen world." The teen sneered.
"But that doesn't change the fact that we would like one less threat to deal with," Batman said as Constantine tried to shut him up. "Even if you do not care about humans, we care what you can do to us."
"A good point but I never said I didn't care. I'm actually fond of humans but no more fond of them than any other lifeforms. There are billions of aliens in this universe alone. But not one is special because all life is special. Not one is better. But any damage I could possibly do to you could easily be done by the many unseen gods of this realm. These beings have built this world from those that actively created it, ignore it, and those that don't even realize it exists. Could you believe that your own creator doesn't know you are there? It's actually very common."
"You're dodging the question and talking in circles. We just want you to leave." Batman sighed irritably.
"You keep telling me to leave. I have just arrived but I've also always been here. Is this how you greet me?" The teen crossed his arms.
"Are you a god of this world?" Wonder Woman stepped forward this time. "You dress like that of a Roman god."
"Do you like it? I got it from Rome a few thousand years ago."
Well, he never failed to turn something into a compliment, that's for sure.
"But that's a complicated question. If you're asking if I made your universe then, no. If your asking if it exists because of me then, yes. It exists because I do. It's my nature. So I'm not a god. I'm a law of nature." The boy leaned back and kicked his feet childishly.
"You look like a kid." Clark blurted.
"Well... you're right. But you didn't have to point it out." He pouted.
"I mean, you just look...like a person. Not a force of nature." Clark quickly corrected.
"I look like what you can perceive me as. Can't ask a two-dimensional creature to understand three dimensions. Think of me as an anthropomorphic personification of a concept." The teen stood up finally and walked around his bowing worshippers.
"And what are you?" Batman said stiffly as the boy reached him.
"I am the Void. The absence of force or untethered space and infinite possibilities. A place of raw unprocessed energy. So if I exist then a tethered space with one string of possibilities exists. Think string theory." The boy laughed.
"Wait, I know what you are. You're an Ancient, an Endless. I thought I'd get a break from your lot after Morphosis." Constantine said.
The group turned to Constantine in surprise, not surprised that he knew what the kid was but that he had done this before.
"Look, kid. Your lot don't show themselves often. Especially not in front of so many people. You'd usually lay low among mortals." Constantine said suspicious of the young Endless. "Do the others know you are playing around?"
The teen presses his lips together. He glares like someone has ruined his game.
"Should I try summoning them and ask." Constantine smirked, he knew he found his in.
"You wouldn't." He frowned.
"I would." Constantine said "Unless you want to go home on your own."
The boy tried to protest but a portal opened on its own and a hand reached out grabbing the boy by the ear.
"What are you doing in the mortal realm this time?! I told you to focus on fixing the timelines not playing god like a child!" The voice boomed.
"But Clockwork-" The teen whined as he was dragged through the portal "I was just pulling a prank. I swear!"
The boy's voice was muffled and distant as he got to the other side. Then the prtal closed and it was over.
The room went silent.
"He was right. There is nothing special about any life form over another. But that also means he is no different than a human child and held to the same standards." Constantine said lighting a cigarette before leaving the ruins. "You can handle the rest right?"
#dc x dp#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#danny fenton#batman#superman#wonder woman#john constantine#bruce wayne#clark kent#diana prince#dp clockwork#clockwork
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8x06 fix-it fic: Amnion
Buck doesn't bounce back from Tommy the way he did with all his other breakups for reasons he can't articulate or even look at. He thinks of how long it took him to recover from Abby, but even that felt different, because he'd had hope carrying him through most of it. He doesn't have that now.
The worst part is it's bringing everyone else down. It's starting to affect the job, and he can't take any more of Bobby's pity dinner invites or the kid gloves Eddie handles him with. Then one day, Chimney (in an attempt to lighten the mood) asks Buck if he's pregnant, and it awakens some primordial rage in Buck that he never knew he possessed and damn near rips off Chimney's head about it.
But once the blood levels in his adrenaline start rising and he calms down, he starts thinking about it. Before he knows it he's thinking about it day and night, and now that's starting to affect the job more than his heartbreak had been.
Then one night Maddie invites him over to watch trash TV and eat junk food until they can't feel feelings anymore, but instead of the patented Maddie Hug he's expecting, she hands him a First Response test stick the second he walks in the door.
Five minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom pale-faced and dripping tears because there are two lines in the test result window, and Maddie leads him over to the couch where they curl up and cry together. Just like the old days.
Maddie asks if he's going to tell Tommy, but there's no judgment in her voice, like she's behind him no matter what he decides, and Buck tries to make her laugh when he says, "How do you know it's his? I could've been living it up for the last month. New person almost every night. Exploring myself."
She just gives him a Look. Also patented.
Under the weight of her scrutiny, Buck thinks about Tommy's face before he left the loft that night and how ''Buck'' looked and sounded so wrong coming from him. Like the shape of it was so painful he could barely move his mouth around it.
Finally, he shakes his head. His eyes well up with more tears, which feels impossible, because the human body can't possibly produce this much liquid. He's going to drown them both. "I thought... I thought we had a future, Maddie. I really did. I guess I still get one... but only with part of him."
A couple of months pass and Buck's entire world shifts. The 118 have rallied around him in a way that almost feels like they're closing ranks to every other firehouse. Eddie becomes especially protective and devises a 5000-point care plan that makes him twitch if Buck so much as thinks about deviating from it, but he also keeps telling Buck that he needs to tell Tommy about the pregnancy.
"If only to get his family history," Eddie says reasonably, but there's something pleading in his voice every time, like there's so much more under the surface that he's trying to keep under wraps. Like there's more about this that he thinks Tommy should know.
Chimney's in the middle of explaining why he's stealing the cool uncle crown from Buck and sitting pretty on the throne when Buck asks him about it.
"Is there something about Tommy that no one's telling me?"
It trips Chimney up. Literally. He just barely catches himself from going headfirst into the kitchen counter.
Buck's heart starts pounding. "Chim, does he know?"
"No," Chimney says, firm and almost a little offended. "We promised you we wouldn't say anything. But Buck... you should tell him. You should talk to him."
Part of him wants to whip his phone out right then and there and dial Tommy's number. He could do what he did the first time: ask to meet somewhere and laugh about bad coffee and plead his case for a second chance. He could reach across the table for his hand, but this time, he'd stand up and walk over to Tommy and place it on his belly. "I don't care about firsts or lasts," he'd say. "I care about only's. And you're the only one I want."
But the other part of him, still licking its wounds, hormones in flux and forcing organs to shift and bend as it makes room for the thing he and Tommy made together, bares its teeth and snaps, "He made it very clear that he had no interest in hearing what I had to say."
Chimney never brings it up again.
Meanwhile, Hen goes a little overboard with forcing him to undergo random physicals—she pops out of the shadows twice a day to ambush him with the blood pressure machine, and he keeps threatening to avoid rooms that have doors—but he loves it. His body is a complete stranger to him for the first time in a long time, but the changes he's experiencing are interesting and he's having a blast cataloging every new one. He and Hen have a spreadsheet with like fifty tabs, and she helps him navigate every test his actual OBGYN sets him up for.
He's over her house at least once a week, although pregnancy talk at the dinner table is verboten.
"If one of you says the word 'amniocentesis' one more time, I will start a food fight," Karen had said, finally putting her foot down. Across the table, Denny perked up.
As much as he hesitates to even think the Q-word, it's a pretty quiet pregnancy. The cravings are kind of wild, though, and he goes most of his first trimester feeling like he's going to die if he can't eat rice krispie treats with cottage cheese. Every time Bobby sees him cracking open another container of Hood, it looks like he's seriously reconsidering sobriety.
But as incredible as they are about the pregnancy, they're all tiptoeing around the other elephant in the room: when Buck is going to stop working scenes. He and Bobby have a series of discussions that satisfies neither of them and resolves nothing, and it builds to a big blow-out that ends when Bobby tearfully begs Buck to stop risking his own life and the life of Bobby's grandkid.
After that, it's like some stone thing in him dissolves into sand and he finally eases back a bit in his fifth month. He doesn't put up a fight when Bobby orders him to only handle the winch or stick with hose duty, and if he stays a little closer to the engine because he gets winded so easily these days, no one comments on it.
In his sixth month, the inevitable happens: there's a call out at Palos Verdes and it's all hands on deck, which means the 217 is there too. At first he thinks he might make it through without running into Tommy at all, but he turns a corner and—there he is. Smudged with mud and looking like a drowned rat because of the downpours, but in his turnouts he's big and capable and, for a second, he's walking into First Presbyterian and apologizing for missing the ceremony.
But the memory is easily wrestled back into the past the second Tommy's gaze fixes on Buck's belly.
Buck wants to stage a retreat that would make the Allies at Dunkirk stand up and applaud. He wants to throw his arms open so Tommy can get a better look at it, say something cool and mean, like, "Did you know that INNOTEX makes turnouts for carriers these days? Pretty progressive of them, if you ask me."
He wants to be weak and ask if Tommy will spare him a hug. Just one. Nothing greedy. Just—a moment to soak in his warmth, to inhale the smell of his skin. Enough to carry him through the rest of it.
But he does none of that. He inhales through his nose, lifts his chin, and says, "Firefighter Kinard."
At that, Tommy smiles, and it's completely awful. There's no joy in it. Not even amusement. He looks like he wants to be sick, and Buck feels like a monster.
But Tommy swallows and says, earnest as anything, "Congratulations. I-I knew you'd find it. I never doubted for a second that you'd find the person who'd be your last."
Even as he says it, Tommy's face does something indescribable, but it rips through Buck's chest and shatters his ribs, tearing through pericardial layers until it scores the vulnerable muscle of his heart. It's so shocking that it almost knocks the truth right out of Buck's mouth.
Someone comes over the radio and requests all available first responders with flight experience to report to the B-zone, and Tommy straightens up and locks whatever it was away.
With an unsteady hand, he tips an invisible hat to Buck and says wryly, "Firefighter Buckley," before jogging away.
And Buck stands there like an idiot watching him go. It's that night all over again. It's Buck instead of Evan.
"See you around," he whispers, and then runs back to his post in the A-zone.
+
Tommy gets the call when he's halfway through a burrito foisted upon him by Dana, who had taken one look at him and said, "You look like a flood victim. Eat something before I get HR involved."
He'd taken a mutinous bite and couldn't argue with her. Months later and it still felt like he'd watched everything he loved wash away with a tide he couldn't fight. Except he'd sent the tide himself. He had no business feeling like this.
But they send him to the site of a car accident where a pregnant driver had been T-boned by some asshole who ran the red light, and the RA unit called to the scene didn't have the right equipment to assess the fetus. But the victim's belly was hard enough to warrant a med evac.
By the time Dana gets the victim loaded on the backboard and inside, Tommy's already on with both First Presbyterian and LA General to see whose neonatal surgery team is available.
The door on Tommy's side slides open and Tommy turns in his seat to ask what the hell Dana's doing over there, but it's Hen who's pulling herself inside.
His stomach clenches with dread. "Hen?"
"I'm riding with you," she shouts, taking the headset that Dana gives her.
He looks just beyond her and wishes he'd had the presence of mind to listen to the manifest when Dana had read it aloud to him, because Evan Buckley is strapped to the gurney and looks like he's on a completely different planet.
"Hen." Tommy can't hear him say her name, but he sees Evan's mouth shape the word. Evan reaches clumsily out for her with one hand while pressing the other to his belly.
Hen murmurs something to him that the comms can't pick up, and Tommy wonders if they've notified Maddie, if they've notified the father, whoever they are. If they're already at the hospital waiting for them. If Tommy will have to see them, talk to them face to face.
Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he feels the hot wash of blood over his tongue, then forces everything down to join the burrito from earlier that really wants to make a reappearance. It isn't his right to know any of it. That went out with the tide, too.
He locks it down tight enough that he gets them into the air so easily they might be a feather on the wind, then he heads in the direction of First Presbyterian. The real start of it all.
They're maybe halfway across the city when Evan shouts, desperation and fear carrying his voice over the rotors, the words sliding together, "Hen, check Nora! Y-Y'need to ch—"
"Nora's fine, Buck," Hen says, her voice clear as a bell in Tommy's ear.
Staring at a skyline he can't see, Tommy says, "'Nora'? Was someone else in the car with him?"
When Hen comes over the comm, her voice is as inescapable as a flood. "Nora's what he decided on for the baby. It's her name."
Tommy's hand tightens on the cyclic so the way it starts shaking won't be so obvious. "Nora was my grandmother's name."
He'd told Buck about the woman who was basically the only family he could stand, who was responsible for not letting him become his piece of shit father, who accepted him when no one else would. She'd meant the world to him. She'd been the world to him. And for Evan to give his kid her name—
Realization hits like a levy breaking, and he turns to look wide-eyed over his shoulder at Hen, because it can't—he couldn't be—
"Patient, male, 33, prenatal course complicated at 8 months gestation," Dispatch had said.
The timeline is right.
Hen stares right back, as good of a confirmation that he could get outside of a DNA test.
Without breaking her gaze, Tommy tells Dana to take over. She gives him an unreadable look but says nothing except, "Copy that," and smoothly resumes their journey while he squeezes into the back. There's hardly any room next to the gurney and his knees are compressing his lungs, but he takes Evan's' hand and stares blankly at the shiner forming around his right eye until Hen breaks the silence.
Why didn't you tell me, he wants to demand, but he knows that if he so much as opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming until someone sedates him.
"For the record," she says, "I hate what you did. I hate what you took from him. But I understand why you did it."
Tommy rolls his lips inward and wants to suffocate himself to death. She understands? Does she? Does she know a life can be obliterated in the span of a minute? Does she know what it is to live a half life, to walk through the world like a five-year old drew a scribble on a blank sheet of paper that was supposed to be a person?
Does she know what Evan looks like when his joy is sucked away? Because Tommy does. She hates what he did? No one hates what he did more than him. No one hates him more than him.
Shakily, he lifts his other hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Evan's birthmark, which used to know the touch of his lips so well that Evan would joke that it was actually in the shape of Tommy's mouth print. Like a brand.
He forces himself to inhale. It seems impossible that Evan's here, carrying their child, their Nora. Evan used to say the lightning strike gave him super powers, made him invincible, and Tommy's ashamed to admit that he almost believed him. It seemed like nothing could ever bring Evan Buckley down, but here he is in Tommy's sky, halfway to Heaven already.
He glances at the LifePAK—where Evan's life has been concentrated into a series of lines and numbers, the reading strong despite everything—and then looks back at Evan, who is still the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen even now.
"Evan," he chokes out.
There's no answer. At least not from Evan.
Across from him, Hen breathes through her nose and then quietly says, "I'm only going to say this once, Tommy, so I hope you're listening. If you can't trust him to know what his own heart wants, then this flight will never have happened. When he wakes up, you will not have been here. I'll change the manifest myself."
Tommy closes his eyes. Something hot spills down his cheeks.
"I know things haven't been all sunshine and roses for you. Lucy's said you've basically shut down since it ended. I know you're hurting just as much as Buck is... which is why I'm telling you: be sure. He's going to have enough on his plate without worrying about whether or not you're going to swan out of his life again. You need to be sure, Tommy."
Tommy doesn't say anything, but he opens his eyes and holds her gaze without flinching, and he tightens his hold on Evan's hand.
The rest of the flight passes in the kind of silence that feels like a cyst was lanced. Or maybe a boil, as it were.
+
Buck wakes up in stages to find he's in a hospital bed, and when he puts a hand on his belly it's smaller and almost deflated beneath his palm. He is just starting to hyperventilate when suddenly Tommy's there, murmuring to him, "You're okay. Everything's okay, I promise, she's fine. She's fine. Look."
And Buck, heart racing, forces himself to breathe slowly while he follows Tommy's gaze down to the bundle in Tommy's arms. Then he stops breathing altogether.
"She's fine," Tommy says. "A little early, according to the doctor, but absolutely fine."
Buck collapses back to the bed and weeps in relief, because she's fine. She's here and she's fine and she's perfect. Tommy gently places her in Buck's arms before retreating to the chair next to the bed which has a dent in the vinyl in the shape of his ass.
But Buck is enraptured with Nora, who smacks her lips in her sleep, and he marvels aloud, "She has my mouth."
"Thank God for that," Tommy says with a laugh. "It'll help take the focus off my nose. Poor kid."
It hits Buck like lightning that Tommy is here. He's in this room and talking about Nora like—like he knows. And there are things Buck should probably be saying, like apologizing for not telling Tommy about her as soon as he found out, or asking why he's there at all, but the words are crowding in his mouth and he can't figure out which ones should go first.
Tommy's lips twitch in a smile that is awful to look at, like he completely understand Buck's struggle, but his voice is soft and even when he says, "I need you to know that it wasn't about you. Not you personally. It never was."
Buck stops trying to speak and just stares at him, because that is bullshit, and oh, he knows which words should come first, and he opens his mouth to release them into the wild but Tommy holds up a hand.
"I know," he says. "I was a coward and an asshole, and I'm more sorry than I can possibly say. I won't ever be able to make up for what I did. But I need you to know why I did it."
And, in fits and starts before he finally finds the thread, Tommy tells him about Jeremy.
After Tommy ended things with Abby and then finally came out, he dated around for a long time before he met Jeremy, who was brilliant and fun and new. Tommy was the first man Jeremy had ever been with, and Jeremy was the first person Tommy saw a future with. He'd been so sure about Jeremy. He'd believed that Jeremy was it.
Until, almost two years in, Jeremy ended it. He'd sat Tommy down and said kindly, cruelly, "You're amazing, Tom, but you're just the first. You can't be my last." And then he'd left Tommy completely shattered in the rearview.
"That night, when you asked me to move in... it was like I was watching him put on his coat all over again," Tommy says shakily. "But what I felt for you was lightyears beyond anything I felt for him. I'd fallen so hard for you that I knew if I had to watch you walk away I'd never get up again."
Buck stares at Tommy, eyes rimmed red, and says, "So instead you made me watch you walk away."
It must land like a fist because Tommy exhales sharply and hangs his head, bowing around the pain. He sits like that for a moment, absorbing it, before he lifts his head and nods. "Yeah. That's exactly what I did."
There are deep, dark circles under Tommy's eyes that speak of a hundred sleepless nights, and his body is sharper, leaner, trimmed entirely of anything soft. He's made entirely of angles. He's so unfairly hot. He's miserable to look at.
Buck swallows and murmurs, "You look like there's no love in your life, Tommy."
Sucking in a trembling breath, Tommy smiles weakly and sketches a shrug. It looks like the fatigued steel of his edges are starting to crack.
"I left all my love with you that night." His gaze darts down. "Among other things."
Buck looks down at Nora, who's sleeping the sleep of someone already exhausted by existence, or maybe just by her fathers' drama, and thinks that maybe he really has been carrying all his love plus Tommy's around. Because otherwise he has no idea how he's so full of it.
"She's absolutely perfect," Buck says, smiling dopily.
"She's... more than anything I could've ever dreamed of."
He looks up in time to see Tommy drop his gaze to the floor at the same time his shoulders lift and lock like they're bracing for a blow. And in a voice so thin it's barely a sound, Tommy says, "I know I don't have... any right to ask, but is there any... any chance I could be part of her life?"
The tears that have been languishing at the edges of Buck's eyes finally see an opportunity. He doesn't think he could've held them back any longer if he tried.
Mouth trembling, he whispers, "Just hers?"
At that, Tommy looks up, eyes wide, disbelief and hope chasing each other across his face like dogs. He jerks a little in his chair but he doesn't move. He doesn't move.
Buck stares at him, a tsunami pulling everything back from his shoreline, and bites out, "Thomas James Kinard, if you don't get over here and kiss me, I swear to Christ—"
But Tommy's out of the chair and at his bedside, cupping Buck's face and tenderly smearing a kiss over his open mouth, licking the relieved gasp right off Buck's tongue.
Between them, Nora makes a tiny noise, and Tommy startles away just enough that he can press the side of his head to Buck's and gaze down at her with a tremulous smile.
"She really is something, huh? Sorry about the nose, kiddo," he says softly.
Buck knocks their heads together and says, "I happen to love that nose, thanks. And like you said, my lips will help balance it out."
Huffing a laugh, Tommy kisses Buck's lips. And the side of his nose and the bolt of his jaw. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to Nora's little pink and blue hat.
"I'm sure if you are," Tommy murmurs, tilting his chin up so he can flash a brave smile up at Buck, who smiles back.
"I was always sure."
#bucktommy#bucktommy fic#tevan#tevan fic#mpreg#911 8x06#fix it fic fest 2k24#fun fact: i originally wrote this in the tags of another post but guess what! there's a tag limit! and i lost 2/3 of it#it forced me to actually write it as a story instead of tag fic though so... thanks tumblr?
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♱ ⋮ fratboy!chris headcanons ⸝⸝
all my fratboy!chris blurbs, fics, and wips : here
⇢ SFW
✱ fratboy!chris who, of course, met you at a party his fraternity threw and instantly decided you were comin' up to his room at some point, even if it wasn't gonna happen that night
" y'look good "
" me? "
" yeah, you— wa's y'name? "
✱ fratboy!chris who's known all too well by girls at boston university, though, despite contrary belief, he doesn't actually entertain most of them... guess you got lucky?
✱ fratboy!chris who's BU's resident dealer, known by every fiend on campus and more
✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't fuck with relationship labels whatsoever
✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't mess with anyone else, and doesn't want you to either, even though you guys aren't really 'dating'
✱ fratboy!chris who has no problem letting everyone know you're his with pride
✱ fratboy!chris who would rather focus on his lacrosse career than "some shitty college romances", or at least that's how he explains it to you
" and why are you telling me this? "
" jus' thought y'should know... i'on want you gettin' any funny ideas about what we got goin' on here "
✱ fratboy!chris who avoids any conversations about the future, or anything that requires him to even think about committing
✱ fratboy!chris who constantly needs you with him, whether he's just lounging around, at practice/games, or out making moves. ironic, isn't it?
✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't call you anything but mama, not even ma, no matter the occasion
" y'see how crazy you're bein' right now? mama, m'jus sittin' here, see? can't stand when y'do allat whinin' shit "
" don't call mama right now, chris, i'm done with all your fake nonchalant ass games "
✱ fratboy!chris who, even with being admired for his outgoing and charming personality, has such a rotten temper, especially when things don't go his way
✱ fratboy!chris who always says what's on his mind - to you, his friends, random people, anyone - even if it's completely unnecessary
✱ fratboy!chris who absolutely relishes in the respect he has from not only his peers, but the staff as well. humble's simply not a word in his world
⇢ NSFW
✱ fratboy!chris who's big and knows how to use it
✱ fratboy!chris who favors doggy, but can also get down with some rough missionary
" nah, s'okay mama... we'll switch it up tonight, don't worry "
✱ fratboy!chris who likes giving, but loves receiving. the image of your lips wrapped around his length is what helps him to sleep at night
✱ fratboy!chris who's a huge hair puller and thigh slapper (as well as occasional cheek squeezer)
✱ fratboy!chris who will take any opportunity he possibly can to either roll up or puff his joints while you use him
✱ fratboy!chris who makes sure to leave marks. usually where only you two can see, but if he feels like a guy's paying too much attention to you, he'll mark you on your neck or something for him to see
" chris, it's so obvious. how am i even gonna cover this up? "
" don't cover it. i'd like to see m'try an' get in your pants again when he sees allat "
" he literally asked for the material in our class..? "
✱ fratboy!chris who's almost always down for trying something new, but isn't usually one to suggest it
✱ fratboy!chris who loves when you praise him, even if it's unintentional. simple things like "so big," or "so good," really get him going
" yeah, s'good? y'wan more of that good shit? "
✱ fratboy!chris who, to no surprise, is horrible at aftercare.
a/n : i fear this took a lot longer than i thought it would to make... but i'll be making at least one of these for each of my au's since a) i'm unmotivated/don't have time to actually write, and b) want to develop the characters (and some of their pairings) further
-love, grandma cvnty ☆!
#cvntagious#★ ⋮ fratboy!chris#chris#chris sturniolo#christopher#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo au#christopher sturniolo au#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#frat bro chris#chris sturniolo smut#chris smut#christopher sturniolo edits#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo headcanon#headcannons#fratboy!chris#fratboy!chris headcanons#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt#matt girl#matthew#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fanfiction#matt sturniolo smut
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Yep. Yeah. That's me. Almost all of it, except, i sleep well (if i manage to fall asleep) Reblogging because maybe some of you didn't know (i also didn't know)
Story time!
Too long don't read: used to sleep on private math lessons because i hate math; it takes hours for me to fall asleep WHEN I SUPPOSED TO, and my sister does it in 3-5 minutes.
I was studying at university and we had MATH there I've always had problems with it. since 5th grade i think (well, i hated math before too but real problems started there) when i changed schools and the new class was behind what I've already studied and i didn't pay attention, until i realized that at some point I was behind. I said "welp, i guess it's to late to try, so fuck it"
So at university we had this very high level math and i just couldn't understand a thing (and we had an awful teacher who was saying evvvvery time something like "yall getting expelled, we're all gonna die") so i decided "if i don't understand, fuck it then, i will not even try" and started skipping math classes.
But i STILL had to pass an exam, we were getting 3 tries and if you fail you're getting expelled. I failed first two what a surprise (i don't know how i managed to pass it after all, i can't remember SHIT, only that i is fucking non-existing number which is square root of -1. Why on earth would you need it i have NO fucking clue.
So i had personal teachers who tried to make me understand at least something to pass the exam. And there was one i remember very well, i even remember that we paid her 10$ per hour (for us that was quite a lot). And i remember her because i was SLEEPING. I just COULDN'T keep my eyes opened. She explains something about deviding by zero and my brain draws the fucking universe collapsing in front of my eyes. She gives me some task, I'm trying to write something and I'm falling asleep and DREAMING about writing, then ahe wakes me up and i see that i didn't write SHIT. It all ended when in the middle of lesson she just kicked me out.
And, what a miracle, I'm leaving her apartments and suddenly, all the sleepiness just wanishes! I'm walking home, thinking about some another AU of mine, roleplaying it with myself in my head, full of energy again.
That's not the only case of this, but it's the strongest i ever felt. But that like happens all the time, EVEN WHEN MY MOM OR MY GRANNY COMES TO ME AND START TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING I'M NOT INTERESTED, IM YAWNING AND FEEL URGE TO FALL ASLEEP. But the moment they leave, It goes away! I was calling it work allergy LMAO
I was diagnosed with adhd in my early childhood (there was also something about epilepsy, but it's ok now so it doesn't matter), not long ago i brought this fact back into my active memory (thanks to Jaiden animations ADHD video for that xD) i kinda used to myself by now and now I'm trying to catch and analyse all moments of adhd kicking in. I know my own tricks and buttons, how to make myself do the thing or just how to force myself into doing something. Because i know if i start, I'll probably lock in and won't get up until it's done (well, if i have at least a tiny bit of interest in that thing, or else i won't), and i hate it when someone interrupts me in the middle of the process. No mom, i can't come right now, i can't finish it later, because i either spend few more hours forcing myself to go back to the task or just forget about it.
But i didn't know that this sleepiness was a legit symptom! I just thought that it's exaderated boredom, that's it, had a joke name for it. That's... Funny to know that this thing is actually also adhd moment.
Also, about sleeping. I have problems falling asleep. I may lie in the bed for hours without even my phone, just rotating my stories in my head, and when i don't have a story to think about, this is just the name of my current hyperfixation with different tones and in different random dialogues that doesn't even make sense. I have no idea how to fall asleep, except when i didn't sleep for like 48 hours (EVEN THEN IT MIGHT BE A PROBLEM AND I START THINKING OF THAT CREEPY PRION SICKNESS AND SCARE MYSELF AGAIN). And my mom told me that it have always been like that with me. She and my dad had the whole ritual to make me fall asleep. Dad would hold me in his arms, his head with me covered with a blanket that i could only see his face (or else I would look everywhere and never fall asleep), and rock me for HOURS while i was SCREAMING and CRYING the whole time like i was tortured. But when I'd finally fall asleep, they could be as loud as usual and didn't have to whisper, because wake me up is a whole different story. And my mom was SHOCKED when all it took to make my sister fall asleep was just pet her back for 3-5 minutes.
I don't think of myself as... Sick or ill. That's how i was all my life, i don't know anything else. That's not a sickness to me, that's just part of my personality. Maybe sometimes some parts of it bite me in the ass and make my life harder, but i don't know other life. That's the only one I've got, and i guess I'm fine with that (tho now that i think about it, i need to pay more attention to how i write the characters, and don't make them all ADHDshers LOL i need to study neurotypical people under a microscope 🔬🔍)
bro im gonna CRY i didnt know this 🥺
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You've been living a peaceful life for the last 100 years, trying to be off the radar.
You did help Strange a few times from afar, but becoming an active participant? No, you had enough of that.
Your owned ranch, your owned daily routines. You were almost healed from centuries of fighting for your life, ideals and power.
Until one day Strange broke his part of the deal.
"I need your help."
You sighed. He never cared about your garden. Always appearing when you were searching for escape with your flowers.
"No, Stephen. Whatever it is, I don't care. And please levitate. You're leaving traces."
"it's Agatha Harkness."
You looked at him. No emotions. He was waiting for your reaction. But you didn't give him any clues.
"Since when can't you fight a bound witch?"
You turned back to your apple tree. You knew in what state Agatha was. Not a threat, not an opponent. She was too deep in her illusion.
"Everything is going to change soon. There are… Entities who want her free."
"Name me one entity who would want to be betrayed by her."
"I can name you two. The boy."
"One of the twins. " Only the sound of your garden shears was heard.
It wasn't even a question. You already felt it. Stephen wouldn't be here if the reason wasn't so serious.
"And the other one?"
"Your old friend."
"Why don't you do this yourself, Stephen?"
"You know I'm not allowed to interact with her."
___
WestView used to be a charming town. Before the Hex. You could still feel the remains of Wanda's magic. People were still scared, wounds were too fresh.
You quickly found Agatha. She was blissfully living through her illusion. Wanda definitely had style.
You knew Harkness when she was dangerous, now she was weak and vulnerable.
If it was the old you, her neck would snap in a second. But you changed. And she wasn't the one you were searching for.
If Stephen was right you were all fucked.
You followed Agatha to the police station, pawn shop, and her house.
The boy wasn't here yet. You had some time. You built yourself a charming backstory, you pretended to love bad coffee. In a month you were already a citizen of WestView.
What if Stephen was wrong? This happened before. Agatha was protected by her own dreams until the cracks the power of nature itself called for you.
You rushed to your hotel room. You needed protective spells. You were not the only witch in town.
___
Stephen was right. Unfortunately.
Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for the answer.
"I thought you could afford a better place."
Stephen was right. You were all fucked.
"I thought you're old enough not to play with food."
Rio laughed at the remark. You almost forgot that sound. You recognized her immediately. Sure the clothes were different, hair, eyes were greener than you remembered.
There was no point in the book you were holding. You started remembering that spells never worked against Rio.
"What are you doing here?" She noticed your gesture of peace. No fight tonight.
"Making sure that you're keeping the monster on the leash."
"oh, it's so much fun not being a monster in this scenario." Rio smiled like a child who finally got her approval.
"It's not about you." You suddenly felt tired. You had this talk before. Each century you were alive.
"It's about you." Rio chose to come closer.
"Is that a holster under your jacket?"
"Yeah, Agatha is in her Swedish crime show period. You like it?"
Rio got rid of her jacket, which simply disappeared in thin air. Brunette always loved theatricality.
"Sure." You were not planning for her to be in your space. You tried to step aside.
"No, no, no." Rio grabbed your hand. "You wanted to talk, let's talk."
You noticed the green light. No doubt her crown was a reminder of her power. Her cosmic power, her power over you.
"Leave the covenless witch alone." You whispered. Oh, but Rio heard every word. She smirked.
"or else?" you could feel her magic all over you.
You formed the fireball in your palm. Light was dancing in Rio's eyes.
"oh, isn't it our favorite foreplay?" witch mimicked your move with her free hand. Green rose appeared. "I missed this."
She let go of you and offered the flower. You took it.
You started remembering. Once it was like this. Every day. You almost forgot why you were here.
"leave Agatha as she is." You still were looking at the flower. It was flawless. Created by nature itself.
"really?" Rio groaned. "if I had known you'd care about her so much I'd lure her into darkness ages ago."
You could hear the hurt in her voice. It wasn't a distraction from her plan. She turned to the door. You flicked your wrist. Thin line of fire appeared around Rio's neck.
"I can't kill you. But I can definitely slow you down."
"till your sorcerer comes?" Rio laughed. She tilted her head and it was enough for you to hit the wall. If she wanted to you'd never get up again.
"Let's have a deal. You give me one date and I give you one more day of bound covenless witch."
___
This idea was so wrong. With Rio you never had courtship per se. The day you met she stayed with you. It was always about the sparks that amplified the worst in both of you.
You needed to know Rio's plan. You needed to win yourself some time.
This time Rio didn't invite herself In. You opened the door. This time it was a bouquet of flowers that never even existed. No doubt, Rio created them only for you.
This time it was a green suit. Always on brand.
Of course she was driving. It was the most human thing you ever saw her doing.
"Where are we going?"
"We'll drink and watch the wolves howl at the full moon."
"There are no wolves here."
"I brought a few with me."
___
"Why did you leave me?" it was her first question after the awkward silence.
You were sitting on the branches that Rio lowered for you. Pack of white wolves was playing in front of you, occasionally asking for attention.
"Is that important?"
"don't mortals talk about their experiences, share feelings?"
"you're not a mortal."
"tonight I am."
You shrugged. You had to play this game.
"I was tired of being… A villain." whiskey was still burning your throat after all these years.
"I never asked you to."
"you never did. But you sure as hell were reminding me every day of who I was. With you I've forgotten the weight of my choices. With you everything was just a game…"
You felt her touch on your skin. Rio guided you towards her. You remembered this. She kissed you like this before. Many moons like this ago.
She was gentle. Always was. You just forgot it.
"You were never a game."
"And you were always thriving on chaos.",
You stood up. Immediately one of the wolves ran towards you. He was friendly, but like with Rio you were not sure he wasn't trained to pretend.
"Why do you need a covenless witch?"
"Is it important right now? It's always about the balance."
"Right. And a few witches you can take for yourself."
Greens started wrapping around your waist and arms. Rio was calling you. Slowly you let them drag you to her. You used to play like this. You used to allow her this.
"Give me another date and you'll get another day."
___
The next day you went to her house. She recreated the garden you once had. With her powers it was so much easier.
"Remember how we used to play with reality?"
"Yes."
Rio remembered every single of your creations. She was attentive to details. You did play with reality. Both of you. You were luring your enemies into scenarios that could never be real. And after that Rio was feasting on them.
"Exactly like now you're playing with Agatha. You always protected your deal with her."
You preferred this Rio more. With the crown, with the flowers in the dress. It was her element.
"She's an effective killer. That's it."
"And what about the boy?"
"And what about your peaceful life?" Rio squeezed grapes and the wine poured in glasses. She offered you one.
"It is expectedly peaceful."
"Sounds boring. Maybe that's why you're here. With me? Missed the fun?"
What did she want to hear from you? You never cared about fun. You missed her. You missed your lover, your partner, your chosen one. You missed your garden. It was never fun. It was always you destroying everyone with fire.
Rio threw her Chalice on the ground. Wine turned into flowers. Again she was too close. She was behind you. She was seducing you with her breath on your neck.
"Rio…" You tried not to give in so easily. "I'm here because…"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the greater good." She was playing with your hair, whispering right into your soul. "It's all about not letting Agatha and the kid get their powers."
Her fingers were studying your heartbeat. She always thought that this curious mortal sound was only for her.
You only inhaled sharply. When you agreed to Stephen's plea you knew all about the risk. But you thought you were stronger than this.
"Let go of me."
When did her fingers travel to your neck? You didn't notice. Your whole body was tingling. Your soul was aching for her. You were alone for so long.
"You don't want this."
Of course you didn't. But Rio had no right to say it out loud.
___
Your third date was an unspoken agreement. You cooked. More for yourself, than for Rio. Old book of recipes reminded you of the hardships of trying to live amongst ordinary people.
"Candles are not lit." Oh, that smug face. Rio always adored seeing your deadly powers in the most boring situations.
Table was between you this time. You hoped it would help. It would give you a chance to win some time.
You tilted your head. Instead of candles - the fireplace became playful. You disobeyed. In a very small detail, but Rio noticed.
This time the silence was longer, heavier. She wasn't eating. she wasn't playing.
"Do you ever miss your mortal family?"
"I do."
"What's it like?"
Rio never respected the concept of privacy. But those were the rules. You had to talk.
"Don't you know? Were you not there when both my husband and daughter died in my arms?"
You stood up for another bottle. Rio followed you to the kitchen.
"Did they… Did they give you what I couldn't?"
"They taught me once again to care about life. Respect the time. They reminded me that you're supposed to exist not only for your own sake."
You didn't admit that you barely remembered their faces. That the pain was almost gone. That for you it was just a fleeting moment. You already didn't remember whether it was real or not.
"Well, I remind everyone exactly this. But with you it's chaos, right?"
You could swear you saw a tear. Was Rio even capable of this? After all the time. all the damage. all the emptiness.
You pulled her closer. You wanted only to remind her that it was never her fault. You desperately wanted to remind her of that. You were clawing deeper and deeper into her. Biting. scratching, kissing whatever skin you could get.
You were tearing the silk. You pushed her against the kitchen aisle. It was always the chaos. But chaos that you wanted and were thriving for.
Now the chaos suddenly wanted to submit. You didn't expect that.
"I missed this." you were murmuring in her ear. You were ready to get on your knees for her. When did your hunger appear again? This time it was different. No burned land, no fallen trees, no skars and marks of struggle.
It was different this time. It took more than a hundred years for Rio to finally feel regret.
You didn't notice how you got into the bedroom. How clothes weren't yours anymore.
She took care of you. Rio always wanted only this.
___
The next day you didn't want to open your eyes. What if Rio wasn't there? Well, it wouldn't be the first time.
"I'm here."
Rio was watching you. She looked tense. She was sitting in the armchair, which now resembled the throne. She pointed to the cup of coffee on your bedside table.
"Charming as usual."
"We don't have much time, baby." And there it was. Your nickname. "Kid is coming tonight. We need to be there."
"Oh, no, no. I'm not letting you…"
"It's about the kid. Not a covenless witch. He needs to come with me. And you will make sure it happens. Isn't this what sorcerers want?"
"Yes."
"Well, then you'll have to join the road. Come baby, we don't have much time." she gave you a peck on the cheek. "It's gonna be like the old times."
You sighed. Yeah, this was going to be an adventure. You simply hoped that this night you saw the real Rio. And after this night you would stay the same.
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To defend tommy (and perhaps give the writers more credit than they deserve), has buck been able to figure himself out whilst they've been dating? because for all oliver's talk about buck's bi-awakening being about buck, on screen it still doesn't seem like he's grappled with his sexuality outside of his attraction to tommy.
They're six months in and buck can't even clarify his sexuality when his sister makes a (pretty poor taste) joke about him having been "turned gay." He does the same thing he's been doing since 7.04 and talks around it.
Plus, let's be real tommy's not wrong about buck being impulsive, and he specifically has a history of using grand gestures in place of actually working through his issues. So whilst i think buck does know what he wants re: his future with tommy, like i've been saying since april i don't think he's actually thought about what that means for him and his identity. Even with Gerrard, he doesn't seem to put together why he's getting under his skin so much. There's been a very steady (if perhaps accidental) thread through buck's bi-awakening of him pretending to be more okay with it than he actually is. Like, sure could his first queer relationship be his last, yeah, but he probably should be able to say the word bisexual outloud before trying to make that happen.
I'd also argue that buck's put tommy up on a pedestal a bit, despite the fact tommy's been very open about his flaws. Even after the abby reveal, he's willing to brush past it with barely a conversation and asking him to move in. That doesn't scream, "I love you in spite of your flaws and mistakes," it screams "I'm ignoring your flaws because I love you." and that's kind of a recipe for everything to all come crashing down at some point. Which is exactly what tommy's afraid of happening.
In theory I don't even mind them breaking up/going on a break if it forces buck to actually deal with all those things, but that's only really satisfying if there's a full circle moment where he's able to go back to tommy with real clarity about who he is and what he wants.
#entering my delulu era everyone#i've decided he'll be back#911 abc#911 spoilers#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#tevan
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You Owe Me - Part 1
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader
Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.
Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff
Word count: ~7.4k
Periods are not fun to begin with.
They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.
You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.
Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.
Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.
And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.
You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"
He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.
And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."
He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."
"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.
The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"
He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.
"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.
"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."
"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."
Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.
"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.
"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.
Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.
The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.
Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.
It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.
Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.
You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.
How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.
It had now been three whole days since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.
Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.
Crap.
"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.
"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.
"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.
Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."
Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."
He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."
"Huh."
"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.
"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."
"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."
"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"
"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"
You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."
A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.
Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...
A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.
"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.
Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-
You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.
You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.
Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.
"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."
You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.
He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.
Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."
Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.
"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.
"I said as much, didn't I?"
Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."
You shot him a quizzical look.
"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.
Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."
You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.
At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.
Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.
"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."
"Yeah, umh, about that."
He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.
"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."
Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.
"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."
He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."
It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.
You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.
Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.
What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.
He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?
You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.
"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"
You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.
"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"
Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.
It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.
Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.
The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.
It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.
Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.
He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.
You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.
You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.
You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.
Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.
"Alright, enough. C'mon."
There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."
You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.
"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.
"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."
You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.
You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"
You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"
It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.
Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.
He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.
Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.
It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."
You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."
Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -
His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your delicate skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -
Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.
"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!
He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"
He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."
He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.
But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.
The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered, hair disheveled from where Joel's hands had dug into it. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.
His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?
Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?
You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.
It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?
My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -
That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.
He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.
He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -
Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.
Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -
He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?
So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.
How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.
And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.
No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.
Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist
Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics
A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.
No pressure taglist:
@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler
@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981
@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller imagine#joel miller fluff#joel miller smut#joel miller the last of us#joel miller tlou#joel tlou#tlou joel#tlou fic#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#enemies to lovers#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fic
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Like I sort of agree with this but also I think it's really downplaying the huge swings to the right in some of these countries like yeah France sort of voted in a left wing alliance in the sense that they got the most seats, not a majority though, the far right got the second highest number of seats (and more total votes), and so the president ignored the left wing alliance and put a hard right man (from a party with hardly any seats) in as prime minister. The UK got rid of the Tories but only after Labour (current party in government) swung pretty wildly to the right, these guys are now banning trans healthcare and ramping up deportations with plans to essentially start harassing minority-owned businesses to achieve this ramp up, they are removing benefits from disabled people and setting up weird task forces to ensure refugees can't come here. And THEY only got in because of the right wing splitting you did mention I.e. the Tories swung wildly to the right, still wasn't right wing enough for like half their voters, who voted for the even further right party.
I don't know enough about any of the other countries mentioned to comment, and I do agree with what the overall point here is - there are many positives to be taken from both the French and UK elections but we do need to be realistic about what's happening on the ground in these places, and indeed it's not dissimilar in the US. The specifics are changing everywhere but one thing that seems consistent is a) the left wing branch of the electorate is not as insignificant as they make it out to be but also b) we all seem to be struggling with the "left wing vs electability of the centre" issue and I think that's gonna be the defining factor of the next few decades.
At least for the UK, I can't speak for anyone else really, we're seeing that heavily targeted and localised left wing campaigns are seeing much bigger popularity than some might have anticipated AND this is much harder for them to challenge and undermine from the top, with the national press etc. How to tie a locally based success into a force that could make national policy at some point is going to be critical going forward.
'wah wah everywhere is falling to the right wing the whole world is doomed' literally like 6 months ago we were talking about how there was a trend in countries getting rid of their right wing governments. poland at the end of last year, france voted in a unified centre left/left alliance, even the UK finally got rid of the tories after 15 years (right wing splitting be damned, it still happened). outside of europe, bangladesh removed a dictator in like 2 seconds, india may have reelected their Evil Guy but on a DISTINCTLY reduced majority, theres been queer rights successes in thailand, with gay marriage set to be legal by 2025, and thereve been positive court cases on it in japan. and this is just stuff i vaguely remember hearing about. im sure theres more if you care to look for anything aside from more reasons to make yourself miserable
the US has a distinct effect on everyone, so this won't be fun for anyone (least of all its population. sorry guys), and there ARE a lot of people sliding into right wing extremism, but presenting this like its an unchallenged worldwide phenomenon is inaccurate, its damagingly bleak, and all it does is encourage despair and apathy. you DO have political power, and you shouldnt forget that just because of bad election results and the media's desperation to make you lose hope
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BREEDING JJK MEN incl. satoru gojo, nanami kento, choso kamo, + sukuna ryomen
tags – bottom satoru/nanami/choso/sukuna, trans choso (tdick mention), trueform sukuna, no ronouns used for reader, gn reader (can be amab or afab)
warnings – breeding, teasing (sukuna), lactation (sukuna), dirty talk, nipple play (ish), mating press (choso), words "cock" and "dick" used to describe reader's genitalia / strap.
notes – may be a little ooc & kinda rushed on choso's part. sorry. :((
With Satoru, it's a slip of the tongue. It could've come from either of you at this point, but in the high of pleasure, all you two cared about was basking in the ecstasy of each other. You did what any reasonable person would do; you grabbed Satoru's hips and lifted them off the bed, pushing your dick further into him. Satoru kept his locked ankles on the dip of your back, pushing your hips against his some more. If you or him had any sense of clarity right now, you'd be worried about bruising your pelvis from the pressure of the contact. His moans and pleas were loud and desperate. “Please, [name]! Oh, fuck! Right there! Fuck me full! Don't stop! I – I want your cum… breed me, please.” He begged and pleaded until his voice gave out and all he could do was moan and whine. Satoru was always good at begging when he wanted something. The sad puppy eyes, how he slumps against your back when he spoons you, whining incoherently, and peppering kisses to your neck. During sex was different, though. Satoru's eyes glistening from tears, his face and neck flushed a pretty red, plump lips parted, and his back arched off the bed. Each moan and whine had a new pitch that always made these moments sweeter. You press yourself against Satoru and grab his face. "I'll make you a dad, 'toru. You're gonna be so pretty leaking my cum." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was sweet and loving. A big contrast from how you were fucking him right now.
Nanami is a different story. He doesn't even know he likes the idea of being bred until it slips out of his mouth. He's always so composed and put together in the beginning of sex. Always a hint of shame in his voice when he starts telling you all his fantasies. He's a more gentle lover and admitting he had such fantasies embarrassed him. It started with you pulling his hair, then choking him with his tie, then fucking him on his car… He liked being subservient. Ready to please you and follow your rules. When a desperate panting of, "Please. Fill me up." escapes your husband's lips, you can't help but comply. Your hips stop for a moment as you shift Nanami's hips so you can plunge into him deeper. You lean over your husband and bring a hand to touch his cheek. “You asking me for a baby? You want me to fill you with cum? Make you a daddy now?” You whisper, a newfound tenderness in your voice. Nanami only nods. The look in his eyes was hazy. He was always like this when he was submissive. Easily falling into a blissful state of contentment. "Yes." Nanami rasps out. You grab his hands, lacing your fingers together, and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Then I'll give you one. Lay back and relax, handsome."
Choso is shy about it. He had brought it up at some point. He surprises you by laying in bed, naked with his legs spread, pussy on display. a shakily written ‘breed’ and an arrow pointing between his legs were on his stomach. It was really a sight to see. Choso always seemed so cautious around the idea of sex. He was always a bit of a pervert, though. This… This seemed like a big jump from where you two were. Not like you were complaining about it. The flushed, hazy expression on his face when you worked him open on your fingers and sunk him onto your cock was always worth it. Pressing Choso's thighs against his abdomen as you pistoned your cock into him was pure bliss. "Mmmph! [Name]! P - Please… Fill me up. I've been good. Wanna be a dad. I wanna be full." He rambled, hands grabbing at the back of your neck, holding you down against his body. Choso loved the intimacy and closeness when you fucked. He loved touching and being touched. "I'll give you whatever you want, Cho." You promised, voice barely above a whisper.
Sukuna is a stubborn bastard. It’s basically in his blood to make things more difficult to test people’s resolve. It isn’t any different with you. No matter what position he's in, he's making demands. Telling you how to fuck him, grabbing you to touch or move just right, sometimes digging his nails into your skin to keep you in place. This time is hardly any different. There was this one thing. You found out a secret of his during sex – Sukuna lactates. It was an accident. You swear it. You grabbed one of his pecs, feeling a little swollen under your touch. It was purely to make a little joke on your part, so you gave it a light squeeze and watched as a small dribble of white liquid - milk - dripped out. You turned to your boyfriend, expecting some kind of harsh reaction, but he looked dazed. Maybe that wasn't the right word, but Sukuna was always hard to read. No words were said as you tried again, watching as more milk dribbled out. “Awh… look at you. Feels good, doesn't it?” You coo at him, slowly brushing your thumb over his leaking nipple, gliding the milk around the sensitive nub. “Maybe I should get you pregnant. This can't be wasted.” You smirked at Sukuna, watching him break under you with every thrust. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” He hissed out, head falling back onto the pillows as he attempted to give you a look of hatred. He didn't hate you. He was embarrassed. The problem is that Sukuna's eyes always betray him during sex. His usual pissed-off expression is contradicted by the haze in his eyes and the redness of his face. “well? go on then,” he muttered after a few moments of silence. his legs spread slightly more, letting your dick push deeper into him.
tags – @kentophilia
#🪶 writing#jjk x reader#jjk smut#choso x reader#choso smut#choso kamo#kento nanami#nanami smut#nanami x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#bottom male characters#sub male characters#<- idk which term is right#gender neutral reader#gn reader#afab reader#amab reader
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trust me
max verstappen x reader | 2.3k
after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.
cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.
a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.
__
The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.
Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.
But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.
Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.
You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.
"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"
"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.
"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.
"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."
That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.
But you should know better, it seems.
"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."
You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."
"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."
He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.
"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"
You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.
"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."
Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.
The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.
"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.
"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."
"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."
That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.
You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.
"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."
"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."
Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"
You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?
"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."
He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.
But how do you explain this?
"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.
But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.
You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"
His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"
You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."
Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"
Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."
You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.
"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."
One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.
"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."
"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"
If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.
"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."
He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.
"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."
He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.
Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.
"You trust me, right?"
"Of course," you say right away. "Always."
"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."
"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.
"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."
Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."
You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.
Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."
He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.
"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."
Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.
"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.
"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"
Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"
"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"
The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.
And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.
"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."
"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen fanfic#mv33 x reader#f1 fanfic#my writing#mv33#fic: trust me
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Wizard 101 Dashboard Simulator (set in arc 1)
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⛈️ fuckfizzles Follow
Hot take but I shouldn't see any life wizards hogging all the health wisps after almost dying in a dungeon for the 50th time. Don't yall have your decks full of nothing but healing spells already 🙄
⚖️ bladesprinter Follow
why is it always the fizzle-addicts being lifephobic
⛈️ fuckfizzles Follow
Why's it always wizards from the weakest schools crying about schoolphobia
⚖️ bladesprinter Follow
mad because you fizzled again arent you
125 notes
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
what's this opaque wizard doing running around dragonspyre lmao
🧭 spiralexplorer38 Follow
OP are you......are you not opaque?
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
um.....no??? i'm translucent like everyone else
🎇 lenora-bitchcrow Follow
Is someone gonna tell them
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
TELL ME WHAT
🐮 mooooooooooshu Follow
How familiar are you with the name Malistaire?
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
i think he was a year or two above me in the academy??? what does he have to do with anything????
🐈 marleyboner Follow
im just gonna leave this link for you op: https://spiralpedia.com/malistaire/dragonspyre
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
I'M DEAD???????
⛲️ wysting-away Follow
HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW
🔫 undeadstalker Follow
how is a ghost using spiralblr
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
i'm translucent, not incorporeal idiot. and sorry it was kinda hard to tell when EVERYONE in my world ghosted at the same time.
✨️ chad-dickbringer Follow
I FINALLY FOUND THIS POST
⏳️ spiralingdownwardsfast Follow
Oh my titan I only ever saw this post in wandcaps
⛰️ goatedonmooshu Follow
need an update from op on how theyre handling being dead
🐉 dragon-theseballs Follow
i still don't get why some ghosts get to be mysteriously hooded by a shroud and im just translucent me.
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🦋 ladyorielfan23 Follow
Honestly DNI if you support the Young Wizard. Since when is murdering banshees okay just because they're hanging out outside?
🌿 bearingclaws Follow
Imagine being so privileged you don't have to worry about being literally killed every time you leave your home because of Malistaire
🦋 ladyorielfan23 Follow
I'm literally from colossus boulevard. And you know what? We made peace with the gobblers instead of just killing them for wanting a place to stay
🧨 themiddleagedwizard Follow
Ohhhhh my titans. You know WHO made peace with the gobblers FOR you? The young wizard. Anti yws don't even know how much they've done for them.
🦋 ladyorielfan23 Follow
Even if that were true, you telling me to shut up and be grateful a crazed child solider is slaughtering hundreds of people when I never asked them to do that is not helping your case lmao
🌿 bearingclaws Follow
It's always wizards from peaceful zones critiquing the young wizard and forgetting that we're literally IN A WAR. I don't even think the young wizard has a choice in it because they are literally a minor. Complain to ambrose about it but don't hate on people who are finally getting to experience some peace after malistaire completely fucked their lives over.
🦋 ladyorielfan23 Follow
Whatever keep relying on a child solider to fix all your problems but don't be surprised if they get addicted to all that killing and become the next malistaire
🧨 themiddleagedwizard Follow
You CANNOT seriously be comparing the young wizard to malistaire i
Expand
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❄️ iceytears Follow
being a goth but not a necromancer is so funny. sorry for the confusion I can't actually raise ghouls from the dead I just know that black eyeliner is hot.
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🐴 diegosdick-andballs Follow
at this point whoevers going to save the spiral is gonna come from some dumb world named dirt or some shit
🦄 uniquelymyway Follow
The original date of this post is crazy
🐴 diegosdick-andballs Follow
I forgot about this post holy shit?!
🍖 gobblinthatass Follow
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🛡 meetmeatthearena Follow
I know that ambrose isn't a deathphobe but it's very funny how from an outsider's perspective it definitely looks that way. Like welcome to my academy here's all these beautiful buildings and trees for the other schools meanwhile the death school is just like. Hole.
🎩 strongermarleyboner Follow
op casually forgetting the balance school exists
🛡 meetmeatthearena Follow
I don't think ambrose even knows the balance school exists
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👻krokpenceee Follow
Introducing Krokpenceee Heals
So I noticed how unhappiness can really plague us. Sometimes the spiral throws so many hit spells at us. It prevents us from being happy and free-spirited. I really want to reach out and help people break free of certain negative patterns in their lives, so I’ve created Krokpenceee Heals. I am an extremely intuitive and empathetic individual. I will never judge or disclose any of your problems to anyone. I will help you transcend confusion, and self-limiting beliefs so that you can be the best version of yourself.
🔥 dragula-fireblade Follow
aren't you the krok whose family owns a mander slave
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🍑 youngwizard-official Follow
malistaire's not gonna know what's coming when i hit him with my massive dong
🎃 darkcavelurker Follow
why is this the only post on the young wizard's tumblr
🧵 stitchbitchly Follow
Probably too busy doing the gangnum style over the corpses they create
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I'm not going to say this doesn't happen in progressive spaces (and reactionaries pretending to be progressive while repackaging right wing talking points....) Also, I think its prevalence is magnified by A. Alt right fear-mongering, B. The way our media landscape carries the loudest and most clickable voices rather than the most common, and C. The vein of gender essentialism running through plain old mainstream society classic to which nobody is immune.
Obviously I don't know a stranger's life. If all the leftists you've met think the SCUM manifesto is the height of political commentary then yikes I am very sorry you've had that experience.
On a more general level, the idea that men are dumb violent animals was just as common in 90s tv as it is in leftist spaces. It's not progressive or controversial. Of course, action movies and ads frame it as either good or at worst an inevitable struggle. In fact the alt right LOVE this idea of masculinity, of raising their sons to be "monsters." This idea was not born on the left or the fringe. It's everywhere.
Combine that with the nebulous nature of any movement as large as "the left" (a nearly meaningless term considering how broad it is) and yeah, you're gonna see a lot of garbage takes. I mean shit, there are plenty of misogynist self-proclaimed leftists. If you wanted to drop back into that echo chamber without the alt right you totally could.
Even if you narrowed to feminists: Andrea Dworkin vs. Bell Hooks. Capitalist vs. Socialist feminists. A century of debate about intersectionality. There is no consensus. There will always be bad takes. And there are lots of leftists and feminists who are trying to unpack that gender essentialism. Many are in the comments on this post. If all you hear from leftists is hate, FIND BETTER LEFTISTS. I have seen a lot of them. I have met a lot of feminist men with wives and girlfriends and female friends who would fight god for them. I do actually want a better world for men, too, which is why I have done a lot of that unpacking and I haven't stopped.
As for fighting for the rights of people who hate you....yeah man. We all have to do that. If I'm against the exploitation of workers, that has to include the ones who would happily beat me to death. Ideological consistency is hard.
Edit on the topic of the original post which we've kind of gotten away from: actual OP you are very right. Part of the issue is the simple fact that since the right is more friendly to capitalism they're going to get more support from the wealthy. Part of it is the simplicity of right wing talking points. Sure they're bullshit, but they're easy to spread and digest and they ask very little of you. Basically the mcdonalds of ideas. And when everyone is stressed and exhausted that big mac looks pretty good. Again this dovetails nicely with employers pushing and stretching us all to exhaustion. For real fuck capitalism.
Buuut to avoid going complete doomer, I do think there are strategies activists could make more use of. Mostly we need to relearn how to use stories and emotion. NOT to lie, but to paint a more hopeful picture of our goals and to focus on those goals when doing outreach rather than just on the problems. I want men to be happy, healthy, and fulfilled. I want everyone to have freedom in their relationship to gender. I want food and shelter for everyone yes everyone yes even that guy.
We also need to push back on the idea that those goals are impossible or unrealistic. We went to fucking space but we can't establish UBI? Why? No seriously, when we encounter reactionary arguments we have to demand they justify their existence first. Push. Give no quarter. Calling right wing creeps weird was a good start because their assertion that everyone agrees with them was tissue thin. Often it only takes one or two people looking at the guy who just said something utterly fucked and going "bro...what?" We need to have confidence in our arguments and stop apologizing or preemptively pulling back. We can't keep saying how unpopular and hard to believe we are and then be surprised when people agree.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
#genuinely starting to hate “the left” as a concept#feminism#leftism#you are not immune to propaganda
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every tevan shipper who's surprised about the breakup or says that there was nothing pointing towards this simply has zero media literacy. like, i'm sorry but it's not everyone else's fault that you can't pick up on the most in-your-face hints possible.
i do agree that ultimately the reason they broke up was weird and came a little out of left field but the breakup itself? that absolutely didn't.
since the moment tommy came back, everyone in interviews said almost outright that he's an entrylevel relationship, that tevan becoming a thing was a spontaneous decision, that tommy's a plot device, etc. in the beginning, even lfjr said that! he only started baiting all of you when he realized he could get some money out of it.
there was absolutely nothing hinting that tommy would be anything more than temporary — the opposite was hinted at repeatedly, in the previous episode alone.
like, what did YOU think it meant that tommy got next to no screentime all season except for the episode before the one in which we knew buck and tommy would have relationship troubles? did you really think they gave him screentime all of a sudden for any reason other than to make the inevitable breakup more impactful?
what did you think it meant that they didn't share a single kiss the entire season? that there was zero PDA between them?
what did you think it meant that eddie was involved in 90% of their relationship?
what did you think it meant that they made it a point to show that tommy isn't actually all that close to buck or his circle (not knowing who sargeant grant is, not being in the gc, etc.)?
what did you think it meant that after 3 months they were still in the 'getting to know each other' phase of their relationship?
what did you think it meant that their last scene in 8x05 was at a literal graveyard and that there was a huge physical distance between them?
and all of that isn't even mentioning all the ways in which they're simply incompatible and have been from the start.
be disappointed if you want, but don't blame everyone else for your blind optimism
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someone sent me an ask about timkon love square au stuff and i, dingus that i am, accidentally deleted it instead of answering 😭 i forgot who sent it BUT hopefully they will see this post. because yes! i think it's very fun if they manage to get into a true ridiculous love square situation between themselves and their hero identities. i have created a chart to illustrate:
the thing that fascinates me about kon and secret identities is that while tim is great at compartmentalizing and separating "tim drake" from "robin" or "red robin" (to a frankly kind of concerning degree? tim are you fucking good?), kon is... not. conner kent comes later, after kon-el. he's a hero first, and only starts to learn how to be a regular person after that. this is in direct contrast to tim, who is by all counts a mostly normal kid before he becomes robin, and has to learn to be a hero.
for kon, secret identities are therefore tied directly to trust. he doesn't have a secret to protect for a long time! and when he finds out that superman does have a secret identity, it kinda blows him away. he's shocked that superman isn't just superman all the time. before he even learns that, he expresses that it's nice in smallville, that it must be nice to have a place to "fall off the map" (superman '87 #155). when he does learn superman's identity, he's upset that superman never told him, not because he feels like he's entitled to that information but because he feels like he's failed to be someone superman would trust with it (superboy '84 #70). to me, that feeling is the crux of why he's so upset about tim not sharing his identity in yj98: everyone else in the group has deemed him worthy, like cissie and cassie and bart. so what has he done to tim, that tim won't tell him or any of them? (and like, he's 15-16, he's not grasping the whole picture, sure. but it's not just coming from a place of entitlement, is my point. it's about trust and feeling unvalued.)
BUT in an au where the supers are more closed off from the rest of the world or something, where literally anyone but karl kesel got to control kon's narrative, kon would have a secret identity earlier on, because he'd end up at the kents' way sooner, etc. so suddenly he has to grapple with a whole new set of feelings: that superman has trusted him with his biggest secret, and brought him into the family as part of it, and he can't let superman down. so he has to learn to make those distinctions, to accept that people can trust him and he can trust them and that's why they don't share their identities with each other until circumstances dictate it's actually a good time.
so. let's say tim somehow ends up in smallville for a bit, has absolutely NO idea that the superfam even have secret identities, and kon's going aaaa!!! aaaaaa!!! why is red robin here!!!! ma whatever you do DON'T look at him!!!! and meanwhile tim's going oh god i think i'm bisexual but i didn't know that that means i might like TWO boys?!?!? oh god. oh fuck. (he may be stupid.)
#rimi talks#timkon#timkon love square au#tim#kon#sorry. just gotta clown on tim for a minute. you know how it is
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im going to try to be nice because bucktommy's are going to inevitably see this and im not trying to start shit.
i'm seeing a lot of confused bucktommy's about the breakup. claiming it was a last minute decision, it was because lou didn't want to keep dealing with it (wtv that means), that it makes no since because of 8x05, and a lot of other spiraling bs.
i even saw someone say that buddie is never going to happen because oliver said eddie is straight...
i'm going to break this down as clearly as i can, because i've historically had issues with bt's and comprehension skills.
1. the bucktommy breakup was inevitable from the moment they got together. if for no other reason than tommy himself. from the beginning of their relationship, tommy has decided if buck was ready. not buck. tommy left buck standing on the side of the road aftet their first date because tommy decided he wasn't ready. because buck was nervous to come out to his best friend in public. tommy decided that buck would break his heart and that he wouldn't be buck's last. tommy came into that relationship assuming it would end. not buck, and not the audience. we were just picking up on what tommy was telling us. especially, given the fact that buck was fully ready and able to move past the abby clark of it all. tommy was a bad partner to buck, that's why they broke up.
2. i said this after 8x05, it wouldn't have made since to give us an on screen breakup if the only thing we saw of tommy was the thirty second birthday scene in 8x01. 9-1-1 loves a three ep arc and buck's side of whatever realization he might have started on 8x05. we needed to see more of tommy so it made sense when he broke up with buck. throughout all of 8x05, we saw the seeds of doubt being sowed in tommy. from the hospital scene after denny, to the closing one, tommy realized he didn't fit or at least wouldn't for long. because he never got that built-in family. he doesn't trust/believe that anyone would have his back like that. and he made that choice all on his own.
3. lfj is fine. he's a mulit-million dollar nepo baby. one whose been callled out for negative past behaviors and some people consider that bullying. lfj knew how long he was going to be on the show when he signed the contract to come back. the networks choice not to renew that contract had nothing to do with buddie stans. his storyline was over.
4. i can't even be confident that he's gone. there was a lot of stuff left unsaid or moved past too quickly. now 9-1-1 has a history of bad writing in that regard but they also have a habit of dropping things to only come back to them episodes or even seasons later. if he's really gone well thank god, but if he's not im not totally shocked.
5. i don't know how many times i have to say this. if eddie is gay or bi or demi or wtv, the cast wouldn't be able to say so because it would be a MAJOR spoiler. does no one remember andrew garfield and tom holland lying their asses off about spiderman ffh??? actors are liars, its like the whole bit. buck was straight until he wasn't. let's stop being dense and accept that maybe they aren't telling us everything because that would the defeat the purpose of the show.
look at this point im not just in this for buddie. im in this for an eddie that gets to be unapologetically himself. and im going to emphasize one more time how dangerous and disrespectful it is to force eddie back into the proverbial closet because it doesn't fit your ship.
#911 abc#idiots in love#eddie diaz#buddie#evan buck buckely#anti tommy kinard#anti bucktommy#anti tevan#tommy kinard#911 season 8
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This is an interesting point about art.
People in 2024 will say that for e.g. far right art can't be good, but the thing is, people who believe terrible things have made great art since always. Ayn Rand genuinely moves people. I don't get it, I find her prose dull, but she does. Hitler wrote a bestseller. Thomas of Aquinas blamed women for many of his problems and is still more revered than not. And of course every year another Joss Whedon turns out to have been terrible all along and we all have to discover that we didn't REALLY love everything he did for twenty years. I'm not even going to address the elephant in that room, but you all know its looming sorting-hat-shaped shadow.
The reason most extremist art is terrible now is, I think, that extremists are no longer willing to traffic in implication. For example, I'm a Christian (I love you gay Methodists), and I like the Conjuring movies even though the Warrens were terrible.
These movies are explicitly pro-Christian. They believe in an afterlife, heaven, hell, demons exorcism. On the culturally conservative end, they're about a loving cis heterosexual married couple with a beloved daughter, and they never mention or acknowledge that LGBT people exist that I can recall.
Right-wing Christians will not watch or accept these films, because they are horror films, or because they don't adhere strictly to the doctrine of a given denomination. For a movie to be publicly acceptable as a Christian film by contemporary American Christianity, it has to either be a Bible story or be God's Not Dead, a movie where (spoilers!) an atheist left-wing college professor gets hit by a car and Christians coerce him into converting in order to ensure that he goes to Heaven.
This creates a bizarre environment where left-wing films are unacceptable because they have left-wing implications, but films with right-wing implications are unacceptable because they are not right-wing enough.
As a horror fan, this is not only bizarre but hilarious. Many horror fans will watch something based on a vibe regardless of its philosophical implications, because you don't have to agree with a film in order for it to scare you. I think this is why The Conjuring franchise is so popular even though I suspect horror fans lean further left than a lot of other filmgoers.
So the ultimate result of this is that fundamentally conservative art is more likely to be observed and discussed by people further to the left than the artist, just like this social media post. This is important, because ideas should be seen and discussed so that we can openly decide which ones are hot garbage, just like the original anonymous message. And I think it's also important because if we only acknowledge and boost what we disagree with that actually has artistic merit, the overall marketplace of ideas still benefits by examining different perspectives without admitting the ones that amount to inarticulate screaming at a minority group.
This is especially important to me because it's how I was de-radicalized as a young person from my very right-wing conservative upbringing - by interacting with critical examination of ideas in art as well as by meeting real people that did not reflect the demonized image of minorities that I grew up around. I think both of those things are important to those that process. And that can't happen unless someone drags forward anonymous pieces of artful hate into the light of day so that we may submit them to the dissecting pins and scalpel of real criticism.
Normally, I just block people and leave their nonsense unposted... but this is art.
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